


calm under the waves

by anneboleyn



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneboleyn/pseuds/anneboleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One day, Finnick spies a young woman sitting on his dock."</p><p>Or: Finnick wonders how he fits into the life of simple little Annie Cresta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	calm under the waves

_commence_

.

One day, Finnick Odair spies a young woman sitting on his dock.

It isn’t his dock officially, but the tiny dock is in a secluded area where none of the fishermen dock their boats, and it’s far away from the tourist beaches filled with Capitol citizens. It’s too impractical to fish on and the beach is mostly gravel. He likes to think that this dock is his little secret area of District 4. Most days, Finnick sits alone by himself for peace and quiet. He likes to watch the sun set each afternoon and rise every morning. No one else ever goes there.

Except for this girl. She looks to be a year or two his junior with long brown hair, dipping her toes into the cool azure waters. As Finnick approaches her, slightly annoyed, he notices that her eyes are closed in a serene expression. There’s barely enough room, but he sits down next to her, jarring her awake.

“Hello,” she says in a friendly tone, and Finnick doesn’t know what to make of her.

“I’m Finnick Od—”

She interrupts him in her soft voice. “I know who you are.” The strange girl stares at him with unnerving green eyes, unblinking and intense, and then she giggles suddenly. “I watched you in the arena.”

Normally, when people mention the arena to him, he immediately backs away. But Finnick thinks that he likes her well enough. Her voice is sweet and soft-hearted. “What’s your name, then?”

“Annie Cresta,” she giggles again, her laughter sounding pure, like bells. “Why are you here?”

“Because I always come here. This is my dock,” replies Finnick breezily, watching her brown hair flow in the passing wind.

Annie rocks her legs back and forth, causing small ripples in the water. The lazy afternoon sun brings out her tanned skin and the freckles on her nose, and Finnick decides that she is oh so different from the various Capitol women he encounters.

“Well, it’s mine too,” she states in a matter-of-fact tone. He stares at her, waiting for her to expand, but she never does.

Then Annie stands up, and Finnick is actually sorry to see her go, but she bends down to place a small kiss on his nose before flouncing off.

He blushes to the roots of his bronze hair.

.

Finnick starts to notice her more often. He sees her at the market on Saturdays, picking out fresh fruit from the array of multicoloured vegetables that line the stalls. Her sea-green eyes are there when he dreams at night, saving him from the bloody corpses of children he killed in the arena. Her voice in his dreams is the only thing that keeps him sane.

Whenever he goes to the dock now, she’s there too. Sometimes they talk; other times, they stay in a comfortable silence. Just looking out over the ocean, over the horizon that stretches for miles and miles ahead of them. There’s nothing but blue.

And when they do talk, Finnick tells her about the wonders of the Capitol, his fear of President Snow, the food, the arena, anything and _everything._ She listens to whatever he has to say and replies in the only way she can: with amazement. Her eyes blaze with curiosity, but at the same time, he sees the disgust and sorrow hidden beneath a mask of tranquility.

She tells him about her life back at home; her life is a daily routine of school and swimming, and her parents are always away somewhere. She tells him about her favourite colour and favourite fish and knots. He listens and listens and wonders how he fits in the life of simple little Annie Cresta.

Mags warns him not to get attached to her, and he knows it. She’s perfect Annie and he’s a cold-blooded killer, a hardened criminal, and they can never be together. (Too bad he didn’t listen. He never listens anyway.)

He isn’t falling in love, he tells himself.  He only craves companionship. Finnick Odair does not fall in love; Finnick Odair may be the lover of thousands of Capitol citizens, but love is a privilege he cannot afford.

But sweet little Annie reminds him of home in the salt water fragrance of her hair, tanned skin. Barely a woman at seventeen. Sometimes Finnick has to remind himself that she has whole galaxies in her eyes and he must never corrupt anything so pure.

He sleeps better at night knowing that she only has two years left of the Games creeping behind her, like a murky shadow. But then again, Finnick has never been good at predicting the future.

.

Annie listens to him quietly.

He tells her his story. The story of President Snow and his forced life at the Capitol, the story of his many lovers. She’s the only person other than Mags to know, and the only other person who understands him like Mags.

So he recounts his story in pieces, while Annie’s expression falters and he notices tears at the corner of her eyes. But when he finishes, it leaves him feeling guilty for sharing his burden with her.  She doesn’t pity him; but her eyes are sombre and her lips pursed tight.

“Oh, Finnick, I’m so sorry.” Annie wraps her arms around his waist and leans on his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. Y-You’re so brave. For keeping this a secret from everyone. It must be terrible.”

Finnick sighs as Annie runs her thin fingers through his hair. He thought this would be her reaction, and he hates himself for causing the pain in her eyes.

She takes his head in her hands, and kisses him softly. It’s everything Finnick has imagined, and more. He finally lets go, and loses himself in her kiss.

.

On bad days, usually after returning from the Capitol, Finnick runs to Annie at their little dock. He loves their private pier, because unlike the Capitol with its ever-changing fads and trends, he can always count on Annie and this small section of home to stay the same.  

Annie takes one look at him and just knows what he went through, and sighs unhappily. She tries to reach out and take his hand, but Finnick flinches away from her.

“I’m sorry, Finnick,” she says slowly.

He stares ahead without responding, but Annie understands. She always does.

So they just sit silently, wading through the calm waves. Eventually, Finnick rests his head on her soothing shoulder.

.

In his dreams, Peacekeepers burst into his home with guns and white uniforms and stomp all over his marble tiles. He runs to stop them from entering but there are too many restraining him, pushing him away as Annie’s screams fill his ears, seeping in through the windows like the blood of the children he killed. His last glimpse before a Peacekeeper covers his eyes is that of Annie, being dragged away, bruised and bloody.

Finnick bolts up in a start, dosed in cold sweat and eyes wide. He glances at the clock, which reads 2:30 am in neon green. _It’s just a dream,_ he whispers to himself, but his voice is shaky and devoid of the Capitol confidence he acquired with charm and grace. He doesn’t hear cocky, flirtatious Finnick. Instead, his own ears hear the lost boy about to lose everything he’s ever loved.

This is when it hits him—he’s in love with Annie. Sweet little Annie, cute Annie, with her freckles and eyes that remind him of home; he loves her, he’s always loved her. She’s a daughter of District 4, all fragile bones and lily-white skin and a mermaid through and through.

And, well, he’d do anything to keep his dream from becoming reality.

But reality is all too real the day she’s Reaped, at age eighteen, her last year. He was so happy in the minutes leading up to it, realizing that this year’s Reaping is almost over and she’d turn nineteen soon and his stomach can unclench.

“Annie Cresta!” calls out the Capitol woman in bright pink, (he’s never bothered to learn her name) sounding entirely too cheerful for someone who announces the death of children.

The moment he hears her name called out, he blanches and nearly cries out before remembering that the cameras are on him. He peers at Annie, for whom the crowd parts, with the blood drained from her face. _No, no, it can’t possibly be right._

Finnick waits for some Career girl to volunteer, but it never comes. Instead, Annie coughs nervously and heads for the stage. Her steps are painfully slow and Finnick wants to vomit.

“Well, hurry up!” The escort announces impatiently. Annie’s expression is fearful and her hands tremble.

She stands alone, small but stoic, until her partner is called up and this time Annie nearly loses her composure because it’s her former friend from school. The boy tries to smile up at her ruefully, but Finnick watches his face fall. Annie flashes Finnick a look of false bravado.

There’s nothing he can do, since no one decided to volunteer this year. Finnick tries his best to remain upbeat for Annie’s sake, but he doesn’t have to. Annie has always been stronger than him.

.

The scary thing is, Finnick doesn’t remember much of Annie’s Games. He remembers desperately taking clients in an effort to send some parachutes. His nails were partially chewed off after the first night. Finnick remembers the look of pure tragedy on her face the moment her district partner is decapitated by some Careers. It’s so heartbreaking that he falls back on a leathery red Capitol couch and tries not to cry.

Then when the dam breaks, he holds his breath until the last cannon booms, and he lets out a sigh of relief. She’s safe. All of his efforts weren’t totally in vain.

When he reaches her, on the hovercraft, he realizes that she’s not all right. Her eyes that remind him of home are a blank canvas; Annie’s tearstained and thrashes around wildly like she doesn’t know where she is. Finnick tries to approach her, but she lashes out at him and leaves a cut on his cheek so deep it will probably last for a week. Completely soaked from being in the water for so long, Annie shivers and her pretty hair sticks to her bare skin. He doesn’t know what to do—he’s never encountered a Victor so violent like her.

 _What did they do to her?_ Finnick kicks a chair in anger, toppling it over easily. He wants to manually strangle each and every Gamemaker, and President Snow especially. Annie starts babbling about water and the doctors come around with a very large syringe.

“So much water, there’s so much water, water, water, water—” she screeches as Capitol doctors hold her arms back and inject her with the heavy sedative. The last thing she says before she blacks out is this: “I couldn’t save him.” Finnick barely chokes back a sob before tears start streaming down his face, ruining his makeup and powder.

They make her spend two months in Capitol for psychological treatment. Finnick sleeps outside her door every night, his heart breaking over her screams of terror.

.

The sky blends into the sea in a mixture of green and blue, like a painting from the distant past. Finnick’s sandals scratch against the wooden surface of the dock, shuffling slowly towards the water. Annie sits on the edge of the board, toes grazing into the ocean. She’s calm for once, and her expression is dreamy and whimsical instead of fear. The sun shines warmly, and all is well.

Finnick watches her with affection in his sea-green eyes. He thinks that one day, _just maybe,_ they could have their happy ending.

.

_fin_

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! find me on tumblr @ cosetteclaus and thanks to Michelle for reading over.


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